Realizing that the economy is shrinking faster than my pants on a Sunday afternoon, I can’t believe how quickly word spreads throughout the “press”. I had to cancel my subscription to my local newspaper. I couldn’t do it anymore. This paper used to be well written and captured some of the best stories. Their reporters were on top of their game and there was no room for b/s. Pure news.
When I moved into my condo a couple of years ago, I subscribed to the weekender. I loved it. As time went on, I noticed that their stories weren’t as interesting and if anything - they weren’t getting enough stories. There were stories out there on the local news channel on cable TV that weren’t trickling over into the newspaper. The paper’s biggest news was the happenings at your local winery or flea market. I thought they were going through a lull, until it just got worse. Their writing was suffering as well. They would try to spruce up a story by making it sound like a fictional tale. I want news - not some creative nonsense. Who? What? Where? When? Why? Give it to me.
That wasn’t the end of it though. Then, as more weekends passed by, the only thing I was receiving was a little pamphlet full of advertisements and no stories! If there were stories in there, it was about how Marsha Smith cut off all her hair for Locks of Love. That’s great. What else?
I bit the bullet and called up the newspaper company. I had asked the guy if he could stop my subscription. He had asked why and I explained to him that I was only getting advertisements and poorly written news about nothing. I wasn’t mean to him, but I guess he had heard it all, or so it sounded like it. He chuckled sarcastically and said that I could resume at anytime. For now, I’m sticking to the New York Times and holding off on the little guy. It’s a shame because I usually buy everything from the little guys in town, but sometimes it’s just not worth it when nobody wants to do their best at their jobs.
Anyway, this morning I opened the door to get my last of their Sunday issue. I noticed it was mangled up a bit in an orange plastic bag. I never once received a mangled up newspaper. I guess the paperboy found out this was his last stop to my door. I guess he took the breakup worse than I did.
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